They’re making the bed with me still in it,
lying–
as they draw and quarter me in sheets.
I step outside myself and see
the smothering pillow, mothering willow
spread me out and drown me in
white, like Lazarus stepping from his tomb,
but there is no resurrection here,
just a face that saw the skyward climb
and faltered, just before the final rise.
* My latest contribution to the wonderful One Shot Poetry Wednesdays! Once you’ve had a look, check out some of the other One Shot Poets as well–they’re a skilled bunch of poets, looking to form a community and support one another. Enjoy!
The Waking Den 